


24 December

by mmmuse



Series: Six Months:  Journey to Love [10]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shift from master and servant to man and wife present challenges for Ross and Demelza Poldark during their first six months of marriage. Inspired by scenes from Poldark 2015, episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	24 December

**Author's Note:**

> This piece follows my previous works and may reference a bit or a bob from them (from time to time) but I think this series could be a standalone. That said, if you'd like to see what has come before, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse) for my works. If there IS a piece to read before this, read [One Night.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/321026)
> 
> My deepest gratitude to Jackie and Sherry for their time with the beta. You really help me shape these things into something I can be proud of and I'm grateful beyond words. Thanks again to all of you who have kudoed or commented here, on twitter or tumblr. They mean the world and keep my fingers flying as more and more ideas spring to mind. 
> 
> As I should have said all along, I own NONE of this. Gratitude forever to Winston, Debbie, the team at Mammoth and, especially, Aidan and Eleanor.
> 
>  
> 
> Can a song change a life? We're about to see. Enjoy!

Monday, 24th of December, 1787

Ross and Demelza left Nampara a little after three in the afternoon to begin the three-mile walk to Trenwith. They had planned to leave later, but discovered Rose had gone lame the day before and she was being treated with poultices to help with the swelling. They were quiet until they reached the end of the drive when Ross stopped and turned Demelza to face him. He kissed her gently before leaning back to look in her eyes. “We’ll be home by noon tomorrow,” he said, “I promise.” She nodded, her eyes wide and searching. He kissed her again before he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and started them down the path towards Wheal Leisure.

“Demelza,” he said hesitantly, “I need to tell you about what has been troubling me of late.” He glanced down at her and felt her fingers tighten on his arm.

“It’s about the mine, isn’t it, Ross?” she said softly. He nodded. “You’ve spent so much time there over the last several weeks.” She looked at him. “It’s to close, am I right?”

He nodded again. There were times she could read him like a book, going as far back as when she first came to his home as his kitchen maid. This time, it was easy enough to surmise what he was worried about, given all of the time he’d spent at Leisure in recent weeks, but he’d done everything in his power to keep the bleakness of the mine’s future from her and everyone, save Zacky and Henshawe, until yesterday.

“The mine will close on the 30th, my dear,” he began, and then told her of the plans he had to try to help the miners through the rest of the winter. By the time he finished they were on the road near the mine. People were scurrying about, business as usual, except the energy was more frenetic. And on Christmas Eve no less, when they should be at home with their families. And what was he doing? Heading off to spend an evening with _his_ family, surrounded by more food and drink than these people had seen in their lives; what did that say about him?

“What a sorry Christmas I’ve handed them,” he said dourly, watching them as they toiled, while guilt clawed at his stomach.

“No,” Demelza said, tugging at his arm to stop his forward progress. “You’ve handed them near-on twelve month of work they’d otherwise not have.” He turned to look at her from the corner of his eye. Her eyes were fierce, clearly defending him and his decision without question. He found her support to be quite moving and it bolstered him. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement before they continued their journey.

Ross could feel the hesitation in Demelza’s steps as they approached the great stone pillars marking the entrance to the Trenwith estate. Before they turned into the drive he paused and gathered her close. “I’m right here beside you, Demelza,” he said softly, stroking her cheek with his gloved hand. It made him wish he could feel the softness of her skin.

She nodded. “I know,” she said, turning her wide green gaze up into his. “You won’t be ashamed of me, Ross.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza saw the expanse of Trenwith House as they stepped into the drive. All thoughts of Leisure drifted from her mind to the test ahead of her. She had a choice: she could wince and cower her way through the evening, or stand up to the challenge and be who she had become over the last six months. She was Demelza Poldark, wife to Ross and mistress of Nampara. She had every right to be there by his side.

She felt the tenuous grasp she had on her new demeanour tremble with each step. Nerves that had steadily built during their three-mile walk from Nampara began to grow exponentially within her stomach and she prayed she would not be sick. As they neared the door, Demelza felt Ross draw her closer. As she looked up, she saw a look of concern soften his eyes as he glanced at her. She gave him a nervous smile just as Verity opened the doors in welcome.

As she stepped inside, Demelza looked around the main hall at Trenwith with a mixture of awe and sadness. It was the biggest room she’d ever been in and it was beautifully appointed, yet it was cold and sterile, with nothing that spoke of home to her. It was nothing like Nampara, with its snug rooms and lived-in appeal. There was warmth, and the hearth, the books and the sea chests to explore. She could easily picture their child running through its rooms, joyful and carefree in a way that could not be achieved here.

She was looking at the portraits of the various Poldark and Trenwith ancestors looming overhead around the room when she heard the soft tread of a heeled shoe on the dark, polished wooden floor. She turned to see Elizabeth framed by the ornate carvings leading to the parlour beyond. She was just as beautiful as Demelza remembered, with her honey-blonde hair expertly dressed in the latest fashion, a long, spiralling, perfectly executed drop curl cascading along her neck and down her shoulder. She wore a dark teal velvet gown, the light silken sleeves of her shift flowed elegantly around her arms. Demelza felt as if she were Elizabeth’s polar opposite in a simple yellow gown with coarse linen sleeves, her hair bundled up in wild disarray with naught but a ribbon to keep it from flying free.

Elizabeth executed a flawless curtsy to Demelza and Ross. Demelza’s curtsy was nowhere near as effortless, but reflected the hard work she and Verity had accomplished earlier in the year. She took pride in it, regardless.

As soon as Demelza rose to standing, Elizabeth walked towards her, hands outstretched. “My dear, it’s so good of you to come to us,” she said warmly, grasping and squeezing Demelza’s hands as if they’d been friends for years. “May I take you to meet Aunt Agatha?”

Demelza was stunned into speechlessness by the other woman’s gracious greeting. She made an attempt to respond but soon found herself walking hand-in-hand with Elizabeth towards the parlour. She moved mechanically, glancing over her shoulder at Ross and Verity. Her husband was smiling that half smile of his, damn his eyes. Verity appeared to have her concerns about the matter. Bless her.

She soon found herself seated across from one of the oldest people Demelza had ever seen. Agatha Poldark was a frail, bird-like creature, dressed head to toe in black with a black and white lace cap perched atop a head of very fine white hair, curled with near-military precision.

“Married, you say? To my nephew?” Aunt Agatha said, a look of confusion on her pale, narrow face. She turned to Francis. “Why wasn’t I told of this?”

“You WERE, Aunt,” Francis said, exasperation clear in his voice. “I told you myself!”

“They never tell me anything,” Agatha said conspiratorially to Demelza. She took Demelza’s hands between her own, bony and liver spotted, and gave them a solid squeeze. “And you, bud, where are you from?” What Aunt Agatha lacked in physical presence, she more than made up with through her sheer force of will and observation. Demelza felt she was being scrutinized more carefully than she’d ever been in her life and wondered how much of the evening’s success would rest upon how well she did now.

She stopped chewing on her bottom lip and took a deep breath. “Illogan, ma’am.”

“Who do we know from Illogan?” Agatha pondered, casting her gaze to the side as she thought before they snapped back to meet her new niece’s gaze. “The Cardews? You know Sir John, of course. And the Perrins of Helston Hall?”

Demelza had caught the slightly amused looks that passed between Francis and Ross and wished to kick them both in the shins. Instead, she shook her head. “No, no, ma’am.”

Agatha did not appear confused over Demelza’s obvious lack of societal acquaintance in the slightest. “Six generations of Poldarks I have seen,” she said, squeezing Demelza’s hand again. Her pride in this feat was clear in all of her features. “Now what do you think of that?” Demelza blinked, completely flummoxed. What would be appropriate? She was saved from commenting by Agatha herself. “You think I don’t look old enough! Quite right, too,” she quipped gaily, patting Demelza’s hand before pointing over to where Elizabeth was seated. “Now you go and sit by Elizabeth so that I can see how you measure up.”

“Aunt Agatha!” Verity gasped, horror struck.

Demelza’s eyes flashed over to Elizabeth, who had, at first, paled under the suggestion. Her cheeks soon coloured to a bright pink and made her face even more radiant in its beauty. Demelza wished for nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

“Go on, child, go” Agatha said, nudging her arm. “Off you go!”

Demelza rose from her seat and walked across the room to join Elizabeth on the ornate wood-carved couch and sat within a foot of her. She’d feared that she would be weighed and measured against Elizabeth all night. From the looks of things, she wasn’t wrong about that. The room was silent during Agatha’s initial assessment, before she verbalized her musings. “Hmmm…a pretty little thing. A mite coarse beside Elizabeth, but doubtless she’ll polish up sufficient when the need arises.” Demelza felt her heart plummet to the floor at these words but was nearly shocked out of her seat when she felt Elizabeth grasp her hand with her own and squeeze it in encouragement.

Where was the woman who had been at the root of all of Demelza’s anxiety and fear regarding her husband? It certainly was not the kind and caring person who had warmly greeted her and was now providing her comfort after so gauchely being compared to her. By the time she and Ross were shown to their room and told to gather for drinks in the library before dinner, Demelza felt disoriented and more confused than she’d ever felt before.

The room itself was beautiful, and it had dazzled Demelza senses upon entering. Floor to ceiling tapestries covered each wall framing a stunning four-poster bed covered in rich, gold brocade. She did her best to conceal her amazement from Ross, who took in their surroundings in stride, because he was _of_ these people. Reminders of his status among the gentry did not come often when they were on their own land or in their cottage. But here, Ross took to it as if he were born to it, because he was. Her nerves danced through her stomach once again. Seeking a distraction, she opened the small chest of belongings they’d had sent over to Trenwith earlier in the day and began sorting through their things. She found the ribbons Ross had given her several months ago. She picked them up and they gave her comfort as she remembered how she’d felt when she’d received them.

“I thought she’d hate me,” Demelza said, her fingers tracing the floral pattern on the green ribbon. “I don’t blame her, I mean, I probably should in her shoes.”

Ross stood near the window, using a brush to clean off the sleeve of his jacket. He squinted at a burr and pinched it free with his nails. He gave a light snort of laughter. “Then you have less sense than I credit to her,” he said, flicking her a glance, as if to remind Demelza, yet again, of her promise to try. She frowned, disappointed in the direction her own thoughts had turned. Elizabeth had already demonstrated her willingness to try to get along with her. Was Demelza going to persist in carrying her dislike and mistrust of the woman as they moved into the evening’s events? He’d gone over how the evening would flow, and she knew she had several hours of socializing with the Trenwith Poldarks ahead of her. She sighed and proceeded to put their things away in the wardrobe.

She finished and tucked the chest under the bed and was settling back down onto the mattress — the thought of taking a short nap sounding very appealing — when a knock came on the door. Ross turned, set his jacket on the chair next to the vanity and opened the door. One of the Trenwith servants held a very large, handled box in their arms that Ross accepted. Demelza smiled broadly. Verity had said she’d sent a note to the dressmaker’s shop to have them deliver the box to Trenwith. It was the one thing she’d been looking forward to seeing here at Trenwith – other than Verity – since Ross had accepted their invitation. She bit her bottom lip in pleasure at the sight and raised her eyes to her husband’s baffled gaze.

“What’s this?” he asked, setting it down on the bed.

“Just something I ordered from town,” she said happily. Ross began to lift the lid and she jumped in front of him, forcing the lid back down. “No, Ross! It’s meant as a surprise!”

He arched his brows at her, a bewildered smirk twitching his lips. “It’s just a family party,” he said, reaching for his coat. “No need to flig yourself up for it.”

“I asked Verity and she said it was right to change for Christmas Eve,” she explained. _And I want to wear this before I am no longer able to fit in it,_ she thought to herself.

He glanced at her and then the box. “Well, don’t lace your stays too tight,” he said, shrugging into his coat. “They feed you well here, and I know your appetite.”

She watched him move towards the door and leave the room out of the corner of her eye. Appetite? It would be a miracle if she could eat a single morsel, what with the way her nerves were jumping in her stomach. Still, she pulled the gown, petticoat and new undergarments from the box and smiled. The dress was even more beautiful than she’d expected it to be. The fabric’s deep cranberry colour was rich against the gold brocade of the quilt, the tiny golden flowers patterning the fabric so delicate and perfect. The ribbon Verity had given her as they headed upstairs was a perfect match.

“Polish up nicely when the need arises,” Agatha had said. Demelza eyed the garment once again, swallowing her nerves. She would have her chance at that tonight. But first she’d have that nap she’d wanted. She placed the garments back into the box, moved it to the side and climbed onto the bed to close her eyes.

She woke from her catnap to the sound of a knock on the door. “Come in?” she said sleepily. Verity came into the room, already dressed for dinner.

“Demelza, my dear, why didn’t you ring for the maid to come assist you?” Verity said, surprised. “We are expected downstairs within the next thirty minutes.”

“Oh no, Verity,” Demelza said, feeling dismayed. “I was so tired I needed to close my eyes.”

Verity smiled. “My littlest cousin causing you to need more rest, I see,” she said warmly, picking up Demelza’s hand and giving it a warm squeeze. “I shall help you change. We will be down in plenty of time, my dear.”

Verity’s fingers flew over the new gown’s fastenings and had everything laid out within moments. Demelza, meanwhile, stripped naked behind the screen in the corner of the room and slipped on the new shift that had come with the dress. The fabric was much finer than her everyday shifts and she already began to feel more confident about the coming evening. She stepped out from behind the screen and put herself into Verity’s hands. Within moments Demelza was seated at the vanity, her new petticoat and stays in place while they worked on her unruly locks. Twenty minutes later, Demelza looked into the mirror and was shocked at what she saw: a lovely young woman with shining, red-gold hair artfully arranged around a heart-shaped face. Slightly slanting green eyes stared back at her, framed by strongly arching brows and long black lashes. Her pretty cheekbones were tinted pink with surprise, and a long elegant nose and full lips completed the tableau. She wore a charm Ross found in one of the chests in the library, tied with a delicate red ribbon around her neck. And while Demelza, the mistress of Nampara and Ross’s wife was taken with what she saw reflected, the shadow of the kitchen maid began to pick at her confidence. She felt the nerves reassert themselves in her stomach and her shoulders slumped.

Verity blinked, putting her hands on Demelza’s shoulders. “My dear, what is the matter?”

“Oh, Verity, I can scarce stand up. Lord knows how I’ll keep my food down.” She swallowed, as if she was at risk of vomiting at that very moment. “And they’ll think I’m that vulgar and simple.” She paused, staring at her face in the mirror. Verity had done a lovely job with her hair, weaving a golden orange ribbon throughout her curls. But all of the finery could not make her something she was not: a lady. She nervously thumbed the gold band on her left ring finger. “Ross will be sorry he ever wed me.”

“Here, let me help you,” Verity said, taking Demelza’s arm and leading her to one of the bedposts. “I shan’t lace you too tightly.”

Bless Verity for her calmness. “Thank you,” Demelza said, her hands clasped around the bedpost. Verity began to gently tighten her stays, leaving her more room to breathe and accommodate the baby. Demelza prayed the dress would still fit.

“Trust your husband,” Verity said kindly. “And yourself.”

A knock rang out on the door downstairs signalling unexpected visitors. Verity helped Demelza finish dressing before she left to see to the new arrivals. Demelza ran her hand down the front of her gown, shifting against the new stays and familiarizing herself with how firm and sturdy they were. They were higher than the ones she usually wore and lifted her breasts higher and closer together than her everyday garments. The shift collar, normally worn above the neckline of her gowns, was tucked deep within the stays, leaving her cleavage exposed in the scooped neck of the gown. It was either that, Demelza surmised, or the result of her pregnancy having added fullness to her breasts. Whatever it was, she was the first to admit the fit was quite flattering and made her feel very womanly. Her concerns about eating would surely be realized, for the fit was snug enough to make eating her usual amount impossible. There was no worry about that, however. She had no appetite. She took one final look in the mirror before nodding her head and walking out of the room.

She stood on the landing overlooking the dining table, which had been set up in the main hall. It was covered with more food than Demelza had ever seen in her life at one meal and it was beautiful. The swan admittedly made her nose twitch due to its closeness to chicken that caused her the most difficulty with her lingering nausea. She remained above the table for several moments in the hopes it would not be a problem and was rewarded with a calm stomach.

She heard voices coming from below and wondered how many additional people had joined them. Verity had not come back to let her know. So, rather than face just the Trenwith Poldarks, there were several other people from Ross’s circle to engage with as well? There was a part of her that wished to send down the maid with a note begging off the meal, using illness as an excuse. But she had promised him, the man she loved beyond reason, to meet this challenge, and she would see it through. She took a deep breath and walked down the stairs.

As she made the turn in towards the main hall she saw the crush of people entering the room from the opposite side and quickly counted four more guests. She was not able to see Ross in the group but heard his rich baritone voice mingling with the others. She raised her chin, straightened her shoulders and stepped forwards and out of the shadows. She forced herself not to waver under the gaze of the assembly as they stared at her, all having gone speechless at her appearance. She saw Ross silhouetted at the back of the group and focused her gaze onto him.

She noticed the moment his eyes found hers. He’d been glancing down at something when he encountered the crush of people in the doorway and raised his eyes to inquire as to the cause. His step faltered and stopped as he saw her, his eyes widening in surprise and awe as a smile slowly split his face, which made him appear much younger, as it did whenever he was truly happy.

“Demelza,” he said, making his way around the other guests to hurriedly go to her side. His step slowed, however, as he approached, as if to take his time drinking her in, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe and back again to meet her eyes with his, which swam with admiration. She smiled in return, her breath unsteady as his eyes held hers and only hers for what felt like forever. He took her hands, squeezed them almost painfully in his own before lacing his fingers between hers. “Let me introduce you,” he said, pride resonating in his voice as he turned to the crowd.

She was introduced to John and Ruth Treneglos, a handsome young couple. John offered Demelza the first kiss she’d ever received on her hand. She felt Ross’s arm around her waist tighten at the gesture, secretly pleased at his possessive response. “Mine,” he’d said to her the afternoon she’d asked him to show her he was hers and she was his. It raised the hair along the nape of her neck with remembrance. Ruth’s curtsy was brief and the look down her rather short, pugnacious nose clearly showed her distain at the introduction.

Next, he introduced her to Kerry and George Warleggan. Demelza recognized the name as being one Ross would often utter more as a curse than anything. Both gentlemen bowed over her hand cordially, but she detected something of a sneer on the lips of Kerry when she was first introduced. George was charming, almost too sleek for Demelza’s liking and she was quite glad not to be seated next to him for dinner.

The meal was extravagant, with course after course of beautifully prepared food and drink. Demelza employed the trick she used at home whereby she would cut up her food and move it around on her plate to appear to be eating. The truth was she barely took in an eighth of the food she was presented and waved off the final course altogether. Between courses, she was witness to a miraculous display of artfully, eloquent attacks on her character from Ruth Treneglos. Demelza suspected the reason for the attacks came as the result of her husband John’s ill-concealed attentions towards her.

“Damn you, Ross, for keeping this rosebud a secret!” John exclaimed, his eyes all but caressing Demelza’s face.

“Hardly secret, John,” Ruth said smoothly, but with an unmistakable edge to her voice. “All the county was talking of her in June.”

Whatever the reason, Demelza almost relished the challenge presented by the diminutive woman on the other side of the table from her. “Oh yes, ma’am,” Demelza said, focused on cutting a delicate piece of swan and spearing it with her fork. “People dearly love to gossip, don’t they?” She raised her eyes, fixing Ruth with her gaze and blinked lazily.

John laughed. “Well answered, Mistress. A merry Christmas and damnation to all gossip!” She tried to overhear some of the other conversation at the table, particularly the talk of the mine occurring between Ross, George and Francis, but was being distracted by John sneaking bites from her plate. She and John shared a laugh at which point Ruth struck again.

“How do you manage for servants, Elizabeth?” Ruth’s voice cut through the rest of the dinner conversation. “Mama and I were only saying, young girls these days have such ideas…always trying to rise above their station.” She may have been speaking to Elizabeth, but her eyes were fixed on Demelza.

Elizabeth parried the jab with aplomb. “I haven’t noticed that. Perhaps you’ve been unlucky.”

“Well, at least I have my own household,” Ruth went on. “My poor sisters all lack husbands. And truly, beyond the age of 23, what hope is there?”

Verity, unmarried at 25 years of age, paled at Ruth’s words. Demelza had a feeling she knew where this next blow was aimed and almost wished she could get up from her seat and take a running leap at the foul woman’s head.

Instead, Demelza directed her gaze straight into Ruth’s eyes. “I don’t believe there’s ever cause to give up hope. ‘Tis sometimes just a question of waitin’—”

“—And seizing the opportunity when it comes.” Ruth interrupted, looking down her nose at Demelza. “I bow before your expertise, ma’am.”

Dinner broke up shortly thereafter, at which point Demelza excused herself from the post-dinner cordials. Ross immediately came to her side, concern written all over his face but she waved it off, quietly made an excuse to repair a hook on her gown, and went upstairs. She barely made it to the privy closet in time. The combination of the new stays, the richness of the food and the turmoil from the mental sparring with Ruth all conspired to make her lose what little food she’d been able to eat. She exited the closet feeling clammy and weak. She fell onto the bed, the change in posture easing her breathing considerably. She wondered if she would be able to return to the party below. It was only ten o’clock and, based on what Ross and Verity had told her about events like this, chances were good they still had hours to go.

Whilst she lay there, she felt the baby flutter under her hands and it gave her strength. After she caught her breath, she poured a little water in the porcelain ewer and pressed a damp cloth against her face and the back of her neck. Then she tidied her hair and went back downstairs.

She walked past the dining table, now cleared of the remnants of the meal. She wondered who would get the leftover food, thinking it could easily feed all of the families in the Mellin cottages. She pressed a hand to her waist and followed the sound of the harp playing in the library. She arrived as Elizabeth was finishing a beautiful piece and receiving rapturous applause. Demelza noticed Ross’s appreciative smile, a look of admiration at Elizabeth’s skill in his eyes and felt, for one moment, the flicker of jealousy fire her belly once more. She was immediately distracted by the sound of Ruth Treneglos’s voice above the applause.

“Mistress Poldark,” Ruth called out as she rose and cupped Demelza’s elbow. Demelza was amazed at how much insult could be infused into her own formal title. “Now you must play something for us.”

The prospect caused Demelza’s tenuous stomach to plummet to her knees. “Oh no, no…I—I —” she stammered nervously, ducking her chin. She could not play the harp, and her work on the spinet was elementary, at best! How on earth could she ever compete in the drawing rooms of Cornwall if she hadn’t the talent to play an instrument?

“Not musical, ma’am?” Ruth said. She barely contained a derisive laugh. “Did your governess not teach you?”

“Demelza sings.”

Demelza’s eyes shot towards Ross’s at his words.

“Oh?” Ruth exclaimed, her tone filled with mocking. “Then, we must hear her.” 

“We surely must!” John exclaimed heartily, a broad smile on his face.

Demelza looked at her husband, who stood near the hearth, a glass of wine in his hand, appearing for the entire world to own the house. He was breathtakingly handsome, wearing the same outfit he wore for their wedding exactly six months before. She could scarcely believe he’d announced her ability to sing to these people. The songs she sang were tunes she’d learned as a child or from the miners and the families in their area. Songs she sang when she worked around their home, or was walking or riding with him, just for the two of them to hear. None were the kind of songs this group of fancy folk would appreciate. A flash of anger rose up within her and she wanted to strike out at him and say: why would you put me in such a terrible spot? As my husband, you swore to protect me and yet here you are, suggesting I share this piece of myself and open myself up – and you – to their ridicule?

His eyes sparkled and he nodded his encouragement. She barely restrained herself from glaring at him. _Fine. If that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get,_ she thought to herself. She turned to walk over to the harp and, with one last sideways glance in his direction, made her way forwards. Elizabeth smiled up at her, and Demelza found herself appreciating the small gesture at that moment.

Demelza plucked the C string. Hearing the single, rich tone carry throughout the room, she took a deep breath, picked a spot on the floor to focus on and began.

I’d pluck a fair rose for my love, I’d pluck a red rose blowin’  
Love’s in my heart, A-tryin’ so to prove  
What your heart’s knowin’

It was a song she often hummed to herself while she was working or walking. It was the tune she’d hummed as they’d walked up the aisle towards the reverend that warm summer afternoon exactly six months before. She knew he would recognize the tune if not the lyrics. She’d never shared them with him, for it spoke of the love she’d carried for him for so long and she hadn’t been ready to share it. But the time had come. He would know the depths of her feelings for him tonight, and if he wanted her to declare herself in front of God, his family and the gentry of the county, so be it. Her fingers were white knuckled and clamped around the top of Verity’s chair. Her knees shook but after the first few notes, her voice stayed true.

I’d pluck a finger on a thorn, I’d pluck a finger bleedin’  
Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn,  
And your heart needin’

She raised her eyes and captured Ross’s gaze across the room. His eyes had widened and he stilled, became so still she wondered if he were still breathing. She wondered if he knew what she was doing, in that moment, declaring before the world that she was his, body, heart, mind, soul. All that there was of her was his, for she loved him; loved him with every fiber of her being. The hairs on the back of her neck and her arms stood as her vision narrowed and the other guests disappeared until all she saw was him. His eyes grew dark and fathomless, green-black and she clung to them. What was he feeling for her right now, in this moment? Was it desire? They were so well matched in their desire for one another that it transcended anything she ever thought possible between a man and a woman. She felt it now, her nipples tightening against her stays, the heavy, beating pulse of life that would grow within her womanhood at the thought of him touching her, tasting her, entering her. She knew she would never have enough of him. Would he grow tired of her? Was that all it was to him? Desire?

He stood stock-still, transfixed in her song. She could see it now, see it changing him. He appeared almost dazed by the words, by the truth she was telling him. _I am yours, Ross Vennor Poldark, now and forever. My body, my mind, my heart and my soul. And I love you._

I’d hold a finger to my tongue, I’d hold a finger waitin’  
My heart is sore, until it joins in song  
Wi’ your heart matin’

She finished her song, the last notes ringing in the silent room for several beats. Demelza only had eyes for Ross. She watched as the breath he’d been holding gently sighed through his slightly opened lips. His eyelids flickered for a split second, revealing the truth he could tell her now. She found she didn’t need his words, for she’d seen them in his eyes. _You are mine, and_ _I am yours, Demelza Carne Poldark, now and forever. My body, mind, heart and soul. And I love you._

The room broke into applause, and the moment between Demelza and Ross was lost. But _they_ were found.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her eyes drifted open as a bright shaft of sunlight entered the window. She was startled at first, waking without seeing the familiar oak beams in the ceiling and their oak four-post bed. She eased as she felt the heavy weight of Ross’s arm across her waist and remembered they were at Trenwith and it was Christmas morning. She slid her leg across the smooth sheets and nestled into the softness of the feather ticking before she noticed the fire had been lit. The shutters, which had been closed upon her arrival to their room after the party ended, were now open. How else would the sunlight have woken her? She realized there had been servants in their room while they were sleeping, attending to these matters and it made her feel grateful for packing her nightrail and uneasy about the fact Ross had, apparently, left his nightshirt on the chair. It made her grateful that they didn’t keep to having one of the Paynters start the fire in their hearth in the mornings. She shuddered at the thought.

As she made to turn over, she felt a little off kilter and headed to the privy closet. Thankfully, she was able to tend to business without alerting Ross. She rinsed out her mouth, gathered her shawl around her shoulders – it was drafty in the room despite the fire – and stood by the window. She’d slept very soundly that night, barely registering when Ross finally joined her. She vaguely remembered him kissing her neck and shoulder and wishing her a Happy Christmas before he blew out the candle.

She rubbed her arms a little, smiling over the events of the last night. She felt triumphant. He loved her. He’d finally been able to rid himself of the final strings that had held him back from loving her. She’d seen it in his eyes when he saw her for the first time before dinner. In the nod of encouragement he’d given her before she sang and then, that beautiful moment when he’d recognized it for himself. She would never forget it, and hoped to one day tell her daughter about the night her papa fell in love with her mama. For she felt, deep within her soul, that her child would be a girl. The apple of her father’s eye, her mother’s delight, and they would love her until the end of time.

She dried the happy tears from her cheeks when she heard Ross yawn and rustle under the bedclothes. She turned to face him. He was rumpled with sleep. Lord only knew how much he got since he’d come up from talking with Francis a good deal after she had. His shoulders and chest gleamed in the sunlight and made her want to go back to bed.

“Come back to bed, Demelza,” he muttered sleepily, holding out his hand to her. “We won’t breakfast for hours yet.”

She blinked. “Oh.” She rubbed her stomach and furrowed her brow. She could do with a bite to eat.

He peered up at her. “Pull the bell if you’re hungry now,” he said, stretching. The sheet slipped further down his body until it pooled around his groin.

She blinked again, this time knowing exactly what she wanted. “Hours, you say?” she said, walking over to the bed to capture the long, curling strand of hair that flopped across his forehead.

He grinned. “Hours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you catch the specific reference made to something that occurred in [Three Weeks, ch. 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4665447/chapters/10645752)? Let me know if you did! It's not a critical one, if you haven't read it, but something that was hovering around my head since I wrote it and helped to spur on the need to write this piece as well. The ideas... they just keep on coming! :-)
> 
> I've written this scene before, in the first Poldark fanfic I ever wrote, called Pride Goeth Before the Fall, from Ross's POV. I have to tell you writing THIS version was almost miraculous in its ease -- a total of six hours, finishing in the wee small hours of Sunday morning -- and I'm even more pleased with the result. Much of that had to do with some fairly deep conversations with my dear beta and friend Jackie. I struggled at first, having written Pride, and feeling it and everything else I've written had to inform this pivotal piece. The truth of the matter is it doesn't. Pride and the rest of the Discovery series, can and should stand on its own. 
> 
> One last chapter to go for this one... but I've got a couple more in the hopper ready to spring on you after that! Find me on twitter @mmmusings or tumblr @mmmuses.


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